


Angels Are Watching Over You

by ginamontier



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angel Dean Winchester, Angelologist Dean, Angels are Dicks, F/M, Fallen Angel Castiel (Supernatural), First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Guardian Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Human Castiel, Hurt No Comfort, Loss of Grace, Lots of Angst, M/M, No Smut, Not Really Character Death, Please Don't Hate Me, Supportive Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-27
Updated: 2018-09-27
Packaged: 2019-07-18 08:05:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16114289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ginamontier/pseuds/ginamontier
Summary: Dean Winchester was not a believer. But when his long-forgotten prayers are finally heard, maybe things are quite different from what he thought.They say falling is easier when you have someone to catch you. What happens when they let you go?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments will be highly appreciated <3

Dean’s first memory was from the night before his fourth birthday.

Excited, he still didn’t want to go to bed. He was only convinced to do so when he was promised an awesome birthday breakfast and an amazing day if he went to sleep. Mary and John tucked him into his bed and gave him a goodnight kiss. And, as she always did, his mom, pregnant with little Sammy, leaned down and whispered for him, “ _angels are watching over you_ ”.

Dean had been so happy at that same moment, his family gathered around him, birthday wishes and a few months away from having a little brother that his smile hurt. As he drifted into a deep sleep, he believed his mother's words; angels could only be real when happiness such as this existed. _Don’t let this ever get away._

He was never one much for praying; only did it when his mother sat next to him on his bed, and prayed out loud as Dean closed his eyes. And maybe it was real, maybe it wasn’t, but if his mother had faith, then so would he.

When she passed away, Dean’s life grew darker. He found it hard to believe in anything; who would take such an incredible and sweet being, leaving a broken little family? His brother Sam was still too young to understand, barely a year old, and his father went down in grief. Dean felt lonely.

"I asked you to protect my family!" Dean cried one night. It was true; every time he had closed his eyes in prayer next to his mother, all he asked was for the same thing, over and over again. "You were supposed to protect them and you took her away!”

He wanted to believe his mother was somewhere better, and that those same angels were watching over her.

It was a nice thought. But he was not a believer.

As time passed by and hope died, he left those childish thoughts alone. There was nothing watching over them. Since the death of their mother, John had drowned in grief and alcohol; the Winchesters had moved to the other side of the country, for the man couldn’t stand staying in that house. Dean had long since given up on himself, the only light in his life being his little brother.

However, despite himself, that childish thought came back from time to time. Whenever he helped Sammy to bed, a twisting feeling set in his chest as he helped the boy in his pajamas and read books to him. The kid loved them, and yet he always fell asleep before he could finish the story. In the end, when that feeling turned unbearable, he would always say the same; “angels are watching over you, Sammy”. He may not have been a believer himself, not anymore, but at least his brother could live with hope like Dean once did.

It was unfair that he had to go through the same grief; it was unfair that growing up, Sam had already gotten used to the fact that he didn’t have a mom. Someone had to take care of him. So that childish want, that hope, that wish for someone to be watching over their family came back, even if just for a moment. Their mother believed angels were their guardians, and sometimes Dean wished that was true.

And if they weren't, then Dean would become a guardian angel himself; if no one was watching over them, even if he prayed, even if he screamed into the night for them to take care of them, as he had once done, then he would become a protector himself to guard over him. It was all just hope, and late night wishes. Growing up, they went away, his hope settling into the reality he was thrown in.

Still, one day, it all became too real, too soon, in an impossible way that Dean started going crazy over.

It was a summer night, and Dean, a nineteen-year-old back then, was at a party. Sam and his dad were at home. He deserved a break sometimes; a break from being the responsible one in that house. And so, despite the guilt of leaving his baby brother alone with their father, he went out. If just for one night.

It had all been good and fun until the party host called his name and handed him the house phone. Dean didn't lose a second after the news and went rushing into the night –he hadn't taken his car since he was certain to drink that evening- and back to their house.

A fire; it was already being put out, but it had been pretty huge. When he arrived, he saw police cars, firetrucks, and an ambulance. He asked everyone what had happened; luckily, no one was hurt. He walked around until he stumbled upon his father, who was pacing in front of the ambulance.

“Where is Sam?” was the first thing he asked.

“In there,” his father pointed towards the ambulance. “He is still out of it, but fine according to the paramedics.”

"What happened?" Dean's eyes were hard on his father.

“I left the stove on,” John seemed ashamed. Good. He should be. “I was- I didn’t- _I’m sorry._ I tried to get Sam, but I couldn't. The fire took the staircase. Someone broke into the house and saved Sammy."

“What?”

His father pointed at the police car, and Dean turned around with a confused frown.

A young man, only a few years older than Dean, was being interrogated by the cops; his hair was dark and ruffled, and he seemed intact despite the fact that he had just gotten in and out of a house engulfed in flames.

“Hey!” Dean called out, approaching the scene. The young man turned around, staring at him curiously. “Hey, I’m Dean.”

The man’s blue stare took all of Dean’s attention in a second. Dean felt as if his stare pinned him to the floor, deep blue eyes gazing at him with unwavering intensity. Suddenly shy, Dean swallowed.

“Hello, Dean,” the man said, taking the teenager out of his trance. His voice was deep, gravelly, hypnotizing, even. Dean stumbled with his words, surprising himself; he never did that.

“I, um, wanted to thank you. For saving my brother. That was really- really brave. You didn’t have to.”

“It’s not a problem,” was the answer, accompanied by a smile. “Is he okay now?”

It was warm and soft, something Dean had not seen coming judging by the stiff way the man held himself. He seemed odd. In a good kind of way, Dean decided.

“Yeah, he is recovering, but will be fine,” Dean said, distractedly. “And, uh, what’s your name?”

The blue-eyed man cocked his head, slightly confused as if he couldn't understand why Dean would ask such a question. Then he shifted, hesitant, seeming unsure for some reason.

“Castiel,” he finally said, despite his obvious discomfort.

“Okay, Cas. Is Cas okay?” The nickname had rolled off his tongue so easily that it only felt right. Still, he asked. It was a habit most people deemed annoying, but something Dean couldn’t quite help. Castiel nodded sharply. “Thanks, again.”

Castiel stared at Dean for a second, a slight tilt of his head in sign of acknowledgment.

Suddenly, Castiel turned around and started walking the other way.

“Excuse me, I have to go,” he said over his shoulder quickly.

“Wa- hey!” Dean followed, jogging behind him. He didn’t know what had gotten over him, but he felt the need to keep talking to the man. “Cas. Wait a second.”

He grabbed Castiel by the shoulder and made him turn around. With surprise, he realized he had way too many questions. Dean's stare was firm but curious.

“What were you doing around here, anyway? You are not from around this neighborhood; I never saw you or heard of you. And it’s pretty late to be strolling around town.”

Castiel seemed really uncomfortable all of a sudden; it was obvious he didn’t want to answer the question. Which made it all even stranger than it already was. How had this man managed to get inside the house and get out of it without a scratch? Why did he get in in the first place?

Cas’ eyes were moving quickly, staring everywhere except Dean, as if making sure no one could see or hear them, or maybe just to avoid his gaze. In the end, he looked upwards, into the starry night sky.

“You asked for protection,” Castiel said slowly as if he was testing the ground he was getting himself into, tasting the words in his mouth and trying to choose the right ones, evaluating Dean's reaction for something that sounded so innocent all the same.

Those words made Dean unable to move, maybe even more than the guy's stare, and it took the teenager a while to process it. For anyone, maybe those words wouldn’t have meant a thing, just a poetic line to add mystery to the situation. But not for Dean. He knew those words all too well.

When he finally moved, Castiel was already turning around the corner and disappearing into the night.

“Wait! What do you mean?!” Dean exclaimed, trying to follow.

However when he reached that same corner, he was only met with a deserted street and a gush of wind. Castiel was nowhere to be seen.

 

Sam woke up the next day in a hospital bed, feeling all kinds of dizzy. His eyes wandered down, finding an IV in his arm. Defeated, he decided against stretching, ignoring the ache of his body caused both by the pain and the uncomfortable bed.

He looked up, gazing around the room and the first thing he saw was Dean pacing nervously. He chuckled, catching his brother’s attention.

“You’ll make a hole in the floor.”

Dean looked up but didn’t say anything. Instead, he just approached the bed, slowly, and playfully smacked Sam in the back of the head.

“Were you worried?” Sam grinned.

"No, I wasn't," Dean rolled his eyes with a snort. "How are you feeling?"

“Like I just slept for like a thousand years. Must be the meds,” Sam laughed. “When will they discharge me?”

“They said you seemed to be fine but they want to have an eye on you for a while. A couple of hours?”

“Great,” Sam smiled.

Then silence fell over the room, and Dean remained quiet.

Sam shivered. Probably A few flashbacks from the night before had come back to him. By the look on his face, that had clearly been an unpleasant experience. Dean snorted slightly. Dean's gaze drifted back to nowhere, the reminiscence from the previous night flooding his mind.

“How did I get out?” Sam turned to face Dean. The oldest Winchester, however, was pensively staring to a wall. His little brother stared at him intently, as if trying to see something beyond the façade. “Are _you_ okay?”

He shook his head slightly. “Yeah, I’m okay. Why do you ask?”

“You seem a little… out of it. What happened yesterday?”

“Nothing. I said I’m-“ Dean fell silent when Sam glared at him. The kid had an incredible glare face, one which he had improved over the years- the patented bitch-face. Even as a little boy he had already mastered it, and now that he was a teenager, that face did wonders.

Dean sighed, adjusting himself on the border of the bed, and told him about Castiel. He never did that, talking much to Sam about his own struggles, even if the kid asked him all the time. But this once it was different.

He told him about how Castiel had saved him without getting a scratch, and then Dean found him talking to the police. About his strange aura, holding himself in an unusual way and acting mysteriously yet warm.

After telling him about the final words that had Dean frozen and pinned to the floor, Sam remained silent, thinking with a slight frown on his face. It was familiar, the same pensive way Dean had been only ten minutes before.

“We could find him,” Sam said, in the end. He hesitated. “But we’ll have to go to some lengths.”

Dean didn't even question the "we"; he wasn't fond of the idea of Sam going with him, hunting this guy down to ask him some questions after he had been in a house fire, but knowing his little brother, it wasn't an option. If Sam was already thinking in the plural, then it would remain like that until he accomplished the task he had set for himself.

“How? I’ve been trying to think about something all night and I came up with nothing. And I need answers, man.”

“I know. What he said was weird. I would want answers too. What do you think he was, again?”

The small smile on Sam's lips made Dean sigh heavily. He wasn't mocking him, though, and Dean could tell.

“An angel,” Dean repeated reluctantly. He had explained Sam his theory; the man had to have been on the other side of his prayers to know what Dean had asked for. And there was only one way for that to happen.

He knew he sounded crazy; he had never believed in supernatural stuff. And even though he had once wished for the heavenly soldiers to exist, to protect his family, it was still a far step from Dean actually believing it.

And yet, when he said it, the word rolling off his tongue, it only felt right, as if it could be the only answer to the words Castiel had uttered the night before. It could have been a coincidence, maybe a long shot, but deep down in his gut, Dean knew it was way beyond.

He was glad Sam didn't laugh at him, as he knew another person would have done the second he said that word.

“Okay,” Sam nodded slowly, a small smile, but no trace of hilarity on his face. “Just checking. So, here’s what we are gonna do.”

After Sam told him a half-elaborated but incredibly bound to work plan, Dean smirked down to his little brother and ruffled his shaggy hair.

“I can’t believe little Sammy would ever tell me to do something, as you’d say, ‘illicit’.”

“I’m not the one doing it. And it’s not how I say it, it’s how it’s called,” Sam huffed.

It was fairly simple, and still quite wrong. But it was nothing Dean Winchester couldn't or wouldn't do. Throughout his life, he had done his fair share of vandalism, as well as many, many other things labeled the same. A little flirting here and stealing some files there was nothing Dean was above of.

The thing was, if Cas had given his statement to the police, he had to give his full name and address, in case he was needed. And there were two options; either he would give fake information, and would risk himself to get caught, or he would have given every little single record Dean needed.

And, to be honest, the guy didn’t seem the kind that would lie to the police. Not only had he just saved a boy he didn’t even know; there was also something about him that screamed friendly-neighbor-and-good-citizen to everyone who laid eyes on him for as long as five seconds. Or at least, that’s what Dean thought.

So, after sneaking in the police station and flirting with the receptionist, taking a peek at the report and writing down the information, Dean could only believe the name James Novak from Pontiac, Illinois, had a good reason to be written there instead of Castiel’s name. Dean checked a few times, scanning throughout the papers, but there was no doubt about it; that was the information Cas had given to the police.

A few weeks after the incident he found himself sitting in the Impala -his father’s car, which Dean had promised to take care of and bring it back by the next day-, rethinking his whole plan as he stared at the church he had parked in front of.

"You sure about this?" Sam asked, sitting on the passengers' seat. The guy had insisted Dean to take him, and once Sam settled his mind onto something, there was no way anyone would change it. So Dean had had to bring his little brother, whether he liked it or not.

“I don’t know. But I have to ask him, you know?”

“I know that. I asked if you were sure this is where you’ll find him,” Sam half smiled.

“That’s what his family said,” Dean shrugged.

He had stopped by the Novak’s home half an hour before, and James -Jimmy, Cas, whoever at this point- wasn’t home. His family had told him he would find him at St. Mary’s Catholic Church, and Dean didn’t even question it for a second. It felt kind of right. And ironic, if his weird conclusion was somewhat true.

“Okay. Then what are you waiting for?” Sam smiled. “Get out of here. I’ll wait.”

Dean glanced at Sam before stepping out of the car.

“Good luck!”

He wasn’t one for churches; ever since his mother’s death, Dean Winchester hadn’t stepped inside a church. Their father had given up hope, and Dean had lost his faith; Sam grew up believing, surrounded by hopeless people. So it wasn't strange how out of place he felt when he walked through the church's big entrance.

He was encountered with a lot of seats, golden and marble details, and an altar at the end of the aisle. There were people arranging things here and there, probably for the mass that would be taking place the next day. They turned their heads slightly, noticing Dean standing in front of the entrance, but soon enough they all went back to their task, ignoring the slightly lost teenager.

Someone touched his shoulder, and Dean almost jumped out of his skin as a soft voice asked, “do you need something?”

It was oddly familiar, even if completely different to what he had ever heard, and when Dean turned around he was met with deep, blue eyes. “Cas?” he muttered, surprise written all over his face.

Something in the man’s features changed, and maybe it was the light, but Dean would have sworn he went pale. His eyes were wide with recognition, and he took a step back, straightening. The man coughed, bewildered. “Excuse me. I have to…”

He turned around and left with a quick pace that soon turned into something suspiciously similar to running.

Dean was not going to go through this again, so he quickly followed, calling him, and telling him to stop. Cas, however, ignored him and ran through a small door at the left side of the hall. Dean went after him, stepping inside a hallway, where people came and went with stuff for preparations, and many doors led to other rooms.

He finally caught him in the middle of the hallway, clutching his shirt and pulling him inside a sort of closet. The man raised his hands, closing his eyes, and said hurriedly, “I’m sorry!”

“What are you sorry for?” Dean asked, confused. Dean took a step back, taking in the sight of him. “Why did you run away?”

"I thought you were mad, but it seems you’re not,” the man shrugged, slightly nervous. “What do you want?” he visually relaxed when Dean let him go.

He was different. His body was way more relaxed than the stiff posture he had managed the other night, even when he was afraid. His gaze was different as well- still the same strangely deep blue eyes, except they were not as piercing, not as searching, and his voice was not as gravelly, deep like the other day. This time, it was lighter, like a soft breeze instead of thunder.

"You are not Cas," Dean said. He had seen the guy for like five minutes, but still, he was certain _this_ was not the same guy as the other night.

“Wh-Cas? No, no. I’m Jimmy. My name is Jimmy Novak.” The man stuck his hand out to introduce himself. He didn't seem as afraid as before. Didn't mean he felt less weary to put Dean off. Which was the case, if his stance was anything to go by.

“Yeah, I can see that,” Dean ignored Jimmy’s hand. “But how- I mean, it was you I met the other night, but it wasn’t…”

“ _Me_ , per se. I know. Strange, right? But you are fine. I… I shouldn’t, okay? But I can tell you what you want to know." Jimmy said, maybe reassuring himself it was right to tell Dean the truth. What truth, Dean had no idea. "You are looking for _Castiel_ , Dean, not me," Jimmy explained as if that wasn't one of the strangest things Dean had heard in his entire life.

“O-okay. I’m not sure I’m following. What do you mean, like a different person?” Dean asked. Then backtracked. “And how do you know my name, then?”

Dean's eyes widened slightly and he talked before Jimmy could say anything.

“Ah, I understand now. Is it, like, you know… a character you do?” he was rambling by now. “Gotta say, you have some pretty sweet acting skills there-”

“What? No!” Jimmy shook his head. “How did you even come up with that? Castiel is an _angel_ , Dean. I’m his vessel. That’s how I remember your name; I was there, but not quite. I thought you knew that?”

“That’s impossible,” Dean snorted, not quite believing what he was hearing. “Angels don’t exist.” He had said it himself, but there was no way someone else had actually confirmed his delirious thoughts.

“Then why are you here? If there wasn’t something strange going on, why would you come here?” Jimmy asked, casting Dean a knowing look.

Dean remained silent. It was crazy, it was impossible, but something was off about all this and he couldn’t deny it. So after a few quiet seconds, he stared back at Jimmy, and asked beneath a whisper, “how can I know it’s not a lie?”

“Follow me,” Jimmy said without question and a tiny smile.

He walked out of the small room, reentering the hallway. Jimmy’s pace was quick, and he dismissed with a smile whoever tried to catch his attention, saying he was busy. The people they came across stared at Dean with confused expressions but said nothing as both men turned on a corner and entered another room.

Except this one was supposed to be some sort of library. It wasn’t big -though not as small as the other closet-, yet it had a lot of shelves with countless books and papers scattered around. It was a mess, probably full of religious information, and Dean had not been expecting to be taken there.

Jimmy fumbled around, ignoring the shelves as he scanned the floor and came across a small shattered box. With a hum, he leaned down and retrieved a quite old book. The leather was covered with dust and the pages were worn out. However, even if it appeared that it would crumble any second, it was still in one piece and that was all that mattered.

“Castiel disappeared that same night. Another angel showed up, they fought, and then he was just… gone. So I checked out this book; he told me it had real information, once. Here.”

He had opened the book and Dean didn’t utter a single word as Jimmy handed it to him, a specific line marked by the tip of his index.

_Angels can only be forced out of their vessels to confront divine judgment._

“What does that mean?”

“It means that if I’m not the one rejecting him, and he’s not the one leaving, -and trust me, he wasn’t-, then he was pulled out. And if he was pulled out, he is in trouble. That’s why I’m telling you this. I need your help to find Castiel.” Jimmy’s eyes were almost pleading.

“Why do you need my help? I don’t know the first thing about angels. Hell, I don’t even know if I believe any of this.”

“I need your help because I’ve tried everything,” Jimmy’s head fell, ashamed. “Usually, a vessel and their angel have a connection. Like a direct line. But no matter what I do, I come up with nothing. Believe whatever you want. But if I couldn’t get him, then maybe you can.” Jimmy seemed defeated.

“You really think that? I barely even met him.” Dean began turning the pages.

“You still haven’t figured it out, have you?” Jimmy said, eyeing him curiously. “Why do you think he was there that night?”

Dean paused, thinking about it for a moment. It hadn’t occurred to him. It had just seemed strange. Like an incredible coincidence that should not have happened if it wasn’t meant to be.

“Bad luck?”

“He is your guardian, Dean. And you have as many chances as I do to reach him. I tried my share, and I’ll keep on with that. But you have to try your part too. Castiel is in trouble.” Jimmy smiled weakly and his eyes squinted with worry.

“Well, that seems to be working just fine,” Dean muttered. “Okay, I’ll see what I can do.”

After that, he returned to the car, Jimmy waving goodbye at the steps of the church. Dean was holding the old book as he climbed up on the driver’s seat, startling Sam who had been doing some homework in the meantime. The young Winchester regarded his older brother curiously.

“What’s that?”

Dean didn’t answer him right away, going through all this new information over and over again. It was only in the middle of their way back home when he explained to Sam what Jimmy had told him. In the end, Sam was smiling.

“I’ll help you,” he said.

At night, after arriving at their home, Sam sat near Dean and they began analyzing the book for anything that could help them. A clue, a passage, maybe even a spell -at this rate, that was probably possible as well. A few hours later, and coming up with nothing, Sam went to bed, yet Dean stayed up all night reading.

That’s how it began.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Endless nights of research, a growing pile of books in his room, contacting people that could have any kind of information about angels -angelology, they called it, cause that was the fancy way to say they studied winged dudes of dubious existence.

Dean still wasn't a believer; he was not religious and hadn't found any proof of the existence of angels. But there was no denying he had grown obsessed. The lore fascinated him. He studied, investigated, and had information that could very well be turned into his own book. He entertained the possibility for a while, even, but decided he was not a writer.

He could not deny, though, he had turned out to be quite good on this topic, almost an expert without a degree.

At some point in life, he came across a man who had all these books and knowledge about anything supernatural, yet he did nothing with them. It was a hobby, he said -just like Dean had come to call his investigation when actual professionals asked about it. But Dean couldn’t deny that Bobby Singer’s personal lore collection was a damn useful gold mine.

“Why are you so interested in this, anyway?” the gruff old man had asked him one day, as they were sitting in his studio.

Sam had gotten in law-school and their father had passed away a while ago. Dean had no family attaching him anywhere, as he traveled the country gathering information. From time to time, he contacted Jimmy. All these years, they had kept in touch, both carrying on with their investigation as they went on with their lives. Both men had been unsuccessful so far. So they kept on with their hunt.

It had been years since the night Castiel's name was first mentioned in Dean's life. Years since he had started considering the existence of angels. ‘You asked for protection,’ Castiel had said, and how did he know what Dean had asked for when he was just four years old and full of illusions, if angels weren’t supposed to exist?

"I have questions," Dean answered, nonchalantly.

Bobby had become like a father to him, taking him in, helping him out, whenever Dean needed it. And Dean didn’t even think about it twice when he had to travel all the way to Sioux Falls every time he wanted to visit the man.

And maybe one day he would explain Bobby those questions. If Castiel was, as Jimmy had put it, his guardian angel, then why had he left him alone?

Dean had found a partial answer to this; angels are not to intervene, in any way, with their charge’s lives. Even if the ones they were supposed to guard were in danger.

Sure, maybe Cas didn’t protect his mother because he was not supposed to interfere with the natural course of things. Yet he had protected Sammy. And if that vow was real, what had prompted him to save the younger Winchester that night?

These questions had been keeping him up at night for all those years. Hundreds and hundreds of why’s popping up in his head. These questions had fueled his interest, his curiosity, to the point of becoming obsessed and investigating so deep in the topic that Dean was sure he had covered almost every aspect of it. And still, he didn’t find many answers.

Hell, maybe he should have become an expert in angelology himself. He had the knowledge, he just lacked the title. But that didn’t mean that snobbish, stuck up investigators called him and paid for his information. After all, he may not have a degree, but he was damn good without it.

After a little hesitation, in which Dean hadn’t even noticed the uncomfortable silence, too engrossed in his reading, Bobby finally coughed. Dean looked up and saw the man rolling his eyes and handing him the book he had been revising.

“I found something.”

Dean’s eyes widened.

In the past, he had found summoning spells. One just needed the name of the angel, and he would be lying if he said he didn't know at least two hundred angel names by now. But he just needed one.

Still, the spells always failed, no matter who he called. Be it Cas or any other angel. There was just… something wrong. Every time. Something Dean could never fix.

Until now, of course. Because Bobby was handling him the final ingredient, the final touch that would make the spell work.

“Bobby, you’re awesome,” Dean smiled, the corner of his eyes crinkling with the motion.

That same night, Dean found himself a small, abandoned house. Jody, the town's sheriff, who somehow had a motherly soft spot for the Winchester, had told him he could use it for the night since they were going to demolish the building and it still had a few weeks before the event. So Dean put all his stuff in the Impala’s trunk, after retrieving the last thing he needed and writing down the new words for the spell, and put his plan into motion.

He couldn’t really say he was surprised when the spell failed, again, like any other he had ever tried.

“What the hell,” he muttered, trying again, remarking the chalk written sigils just in case and lightning on a match. He was certain this time it had to work.

Still, nothing. Dean sighed, frustrated.

“You know what? Blow me, Cas. I’m done.” He took another match out of the little box in his hand. “I’m trying someone else.”

He always did that, of course. Just to be sure that it was the spell, and not the angel - _his_ angel, as he had grown used to call him-, ignoring him.

Like every time a summoning spell, presumably the most efficient way to drag an angel, failed, a little voice in the back of his head told him that no, Cas probably wasn't ignoring him. He had thought about this many times, remembering Jimmy’s words to him from that first time they met. Cas was probably in trouble and incapable of attending even when he was summoned.

He ignored the little voice for his own sake as he summoned Uriel, the angel of light, wisdom, and flame.

A man appeared on the other side of the room, and Dean's eyes widened abruptly. It had worked. He was almost certain that had to be Uriel; or else, there was no other reason for a person to suddenly appear before him.

“Um, Uriel?” Dean said, uncertain.

“The one and only,” Uriel answered. There was a tinge to his voice that Dean could not quite place; a light in his eye that seemed a lot like interest. “You must be Dean Winchester.”

Dean nodded slowly. He was most certainly confused. The spell had _worked_. After years, he had finally been able to summon an angel. All his research had been fruitful. He should be, at least, excited. So why on Earth did the whole situation feel so unsettling, a shiver running down his back? Why did he feel like escaping instead of celebrating?

“Perfect.”

Suddenly, a blade appeared in his hand, and Uriel began walking, closer and closer.

"What are you-" Dean began while walking backward. The angel attempted to grab him by the collar.

Dean was not a fighter; he was good, he was strong, he had trained, but never in his life had he really fought anyone that wasn't Sam. And certainly, he had no idea how to fight a soldier of God, at that.

Still, he dodged his hand, and when Uriel took a swing, Dean ducked just in time.

“You know, Castiel’s warding was pretty strong. We couldn’t find you. And who would have thought you were stupid enough to summon an angel yourself?” Uriel spoke as he tried to catch Dean.

“Warding?” Cas had warded him?

He knew what it meant, of course. But why had he wanted to cloak him so that no creature would be able to track him down? Dean understood he was supposed to be his guardian angel; but what was he protecting Dean from? _Probably this_ , something tingled deep in his thoughts.

“James Novak is dead. Now you are the only witness left, and it’s time to clean Castiel’s mess.”

“Jimmy is dead?” was the only thing Dean could muster, still processing the rest of the statement -what mess? - Before Uriel raised his hand.

An invisible blow sent him flying backward, Dean's back hitting the wall, his head doing an awful noise against the wood. The edges of his vision turned darker, his head buzzing, as he leaned forward and fell.

On the floor, pulling himself up with barely some strength, Dean chuckled. He was used to being hit; his brother had some punches, the little bastard, that now was taller than Dean, and kind of gigantic in comparison. He had some strength alright, and Dean had gotten used to it, growing stronger himself. But this… it was a force he could have never imagined.

And still, the whole situation was funny. He would have never, ever, expected it. An angel kicking his ass¡ So he laughed, as he stood up slowly. Uriel was still there, watching him strangely as if he was a very amusing insect. Dean chuckled again, and he had no idea where he was getting the strength from, as he said, "is that all you have?"

Uriel smirked and sent another blow. Blow, hit, punch. And it went on, Dean laughing as he bled on the floor. Was _this_ what he had been so fascinated about?

But then, when he got up, ready to confront the angel, embracing himself for another blow, he was left waiting.

The hit never came. A blast never waved the air around them. Dean had his eyes closed, the blood dripping off his nose. The blows stopped and a sudden light tickled through his eyelids.

He cracked his eyes open, just slightly, because the light burned but that wouldn’t stop him from watching what the hell was going on. And what he saw was the last thing he had expected to see.

A man was standing in front of him, his back to Dean; his hair was dark and familiar, and a tinge of sadness hit him slightly. But that wasn't what surprised Dean. It was the light, the outburst of grace, and the shadow it cast; two enormous, slightly crooked wings that weren't quite there, were illuminated in the middle of the room. One would have thought such shadow would be seen against the wall, a surface of sorts. But this was not a traditional shade -it was light, embracing something in another plane, and the wings stood proudly in the middle of nowhere, tucked to the man's back.

The worst part, though, was that they were partially broken.

 _Not man_ , Dean corrected himself. _This is an angel. This is Cas._

He didn’t need any confirmation. He knew even before Uriel gasped, “Castiel-“, as his angel swung his blade, making Uriel's words stumble and vanish as he tried to fight back.

Still, something was wrong. They took swings, they fought, they clashed swords and Dean just watched as it all crumbled around the angels.

“How-“

“I escaped,” were Cas’ dry words as took advantage of Uriel’s distraction and cut his shoulder.

 “You just sealed your fate,” Uriel groaned. “You should have let me do this!”

“I’d rather die-“ he winced when Uriel managed to wound him.

“For an ape?!” the angel was furious, all divine wrath, stumbling upon Castiel as he fought back.

“He’s _my charge_ ,” he answered, despite everything.

But Castiel was weak. After years of punishment in Heaven, as Dean was certain he had endured, he was not what he used to be. He was falling, faster and faster, his wounds healing slower and his grace growing weaker. So it came as no surprise when Uriel easily overpowered him. Another cut, another blow, and then he was on the floor.

His blade was lost somewhere in the room and Uriel walked towards him, standing tall, his figure trimmed against the ceiling. His blade shone when he crouched next to Cas. It was over.

“You still have a chance,” Uriel said. “Just say the words and it’s over. You always had that choice. You were just too stubborn.”

But, Castiel shook his head, his face crunching in pain.

Uriel grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, pulling him up and against the wall. His blade rested against Castiel’s throat, barely touching the skin.

“Then it’s over.”

“I don’t like the sound of that.”

Uriel turned to see Dean, and Cas’ eyes widened at the same time. The man, hand holding Castiel’s blade, smirked slightly and he lowered arm, the sword burying in Uriel’s back.

A searing light shone through Uriel’s eyes and mouth and he _screamed_.

In a second, it was over. His body fell, and so did Castiel.

Dean rushed to his side, kneeling next to him, his eyes searching worriedly. “Are you okay?” He knew the angel wasn’t, but he had hope.

Still, hope wasn’t enough, and Castiel grabbed a side of his trench coat and pulled it aside, revealing a bleeding wound.

It was not lethal, or at least he hoped it wasn’t for an angel, but it was severe, definitely more than the other cuts covering his body.

“It’ll heal,” Castiel managed to say.

Dean knew it would, but he also knew it would take time; the angel was falling. That much was obvious. Dean hadn’t gone through all that lore to be unable to recognize a falling angel when he saw one.

He put that thought aside, focusing on the matter at hand.

“Do you have somewhere to go?” Castiel shook his head.

By Cas’ defeated expression, Dean knew he didn’t have to ask the angel if he could fly.

The man put the angel’s arm over his shoulder and helped him up. Maneuvering him carefully, trying not to hurt Cas further, Dean guided him towards the Impala.

Both of them were badly injured, and Castiel protested, stating that. Dean, however, didn’t listen, and slowly prompted him on the passenger seat. Cas was not happy about it, but there was no other way, and at that moment, the last of Dean's worries were his own wounds. He would survive. Cas, he wasn’t so sure. Not even when the angel told him, over and over again, he would heal.

“I’m not risking it,” was all Dean said, and the argument was over.

Dean drove them back to Bobby's- it was late, and Dean needed to rest. He was in no condition to drive them back to Kansas, where he had moved back after John's departure. Just a one-night rest, to attend their wounds, and he would be heading home.

When Bobby opened the door, he gasped and cursed at the sight of both of them. Whether it was because of the blood, or the angel leaning against him, Dean didn’t know.

“A little help here?”

“Is that-“ Bobby began to ask.

“Yes,” Dean answered, and Bobby helped them inside.

He guided them both to the spare room, one he kept reserved just for when Dean crashed there. Dean made Cas lower on the mattress, ignoring Cas’ small huff, and left, coming back minutes later with Bobby’s kit in hand.

He sat on the edge of the bed and raised a finger when Cas was about to protest.

“You cannot stop me from doing this. It’s the least I can do.”

In the end, Castiel let him. Not like he had a choice- Dean had already opened the kit and was examining his wounds, his shirt open and chest bare. He leaned against the headboard and stared with lazy eyes as Dean tended to his flesh, carefully cleaning it. Cas winced and Dean ignored it, but it didn’t go unnoticed how he shifted and pressed the cotton lighter this time.

They were both silent, except for Cas’ low groans as he tried to suppress the pain. Dean’s frown deepened as he bandaged the wound. It had healed just slightly- the grace had managed to slowly mend at least a bit. Still, it wouldn’t be healed for at least a few days, Dean thought.

“What were you thinking?” he suddenly blurted out.

Castiel blinked slowly. “What?”

“I’m not an idiot, Cas, you are falling,” Dean explained. The angel’s nickname was easy on his tongue and saying it out loud after so long was comforting somehow. Castiel looked away, slightly ashamed. “Why did you confront Uriel? You knew this was gonna happen,” he said, pointing at the fresh bandage covering Castiel’s torso.

“I had to,” the angel muttered.

“Why? Because you are my ‘guardian angel’? I know for a fact that doesn’t include putting your own life on the line.”

Cas’ eyes were trained on a cut on Dean's cheek- the man was not bleeding anymore, and he wasn't as badly injured as Cas was, but still, something in his eyes shifted, settling with determination.

“Then why-“ Dean kept talking, unaware of Cas’ gaze fixed on him. He was worried and Castiel could tell. And it pissed him off. He was meant to be Dean’s guardian, not the other way around.

And yet, he had failed- he had fallen, he had disobeyed, and all because he was selfish.

He interrupted Dean with a slow motion. His hand raised and his fingers lightly touched the man’s cheek, rendering him speechless. Dean stuttered, trailing back on his own words, but the sound was soon shut down when a warm and tingling sensation tickled against his skin, where Castiel’s fingers barely trailed.

Dean sighed as his own pain faded, a faint glow mending his own skin. He couldn't wouldn't, speak, the sensation too easy to welcome, to embrace.

And then Dean broke the touch, leaning backward, away from the warmth and looking for Castiel's gaze.

“Stop that-” he breathed, eyes wide. Dean touched his face; the wounds were gone. He then inspected his arms and torso. Gone. All of them. “You didn’t have to do that, Cas.”

"Why not?" Castiel asked, calmly. His eyes, however, were hard. "Why do you have to be the one helping, and can't let yourself be helped? Why is it so bad that I fought Uriel when you were about to die? You are my charge, Dean. That’s what I do.”

“No, it’s not. That’s the whole point,” Dean huffed. “You are not supposed to interfere. I’ve been looking for _years_ because you did it once, and then you go and do it again. And if I had died, that was on me for making the spell, not on you.” Dean turned around, and Castiel found himself facing his back. “I was being useless, anyway,” Dean muttered barely above a whisper, and maybe if he were a human, Castiel wouldn’t have been able to hear it.

Before Castiel could say anything, Dean stood up, crouching next to his duffel bag and searching into it. The angel watched, fidgeting, sitting at the edge of the bed. When Dean stood up, he threw a few clothes on the mattress. “To sleep,” he explained when the angel stared at him questioningly.

“I don’t sleep,” Castiel said, examining the sweatpants and the shirt.

“Yeah, well, with a wound like that you should at least rest.”

Castiel clutched at the clothes as Dean kept fumbling with the duffel bag.

“You weren’t being useless,” he said, voice low.

Dean looked up, ready to state the opposite. He hadn’t even stopped to process the events, and how he had ended up stitching up an angel and talking about self-worth. He was mad at Castiel, and he didn’t even know why. It was not like they had talked much before Cas appeared and fought Uriel, and the last time they had exchanged words had been years ago.

Still, it all felt strangely right, as if Dean’s hunch all this time was meant to lead to this exact same situation, taking care of a fallen angel.

As he was about to protest, Castiel’s eyes pinned him down, taking the words out of his mouth. What was he even gonna say? Castiel shifted slowly, trying to be easy with the bandage. It kind of relieved Dean that the angel was taking care of himself for once.

“You were not useless,” he repeated. “You summoned an angel, something very few people had been able to do. And you even stood up to one.”

“I was barely resisting. I should have predicted something like that would happen,” Dean grumbled.

"Any other person would have instantly given up or even died. You didn't, Dean. You held on. You faced him with every blow. I saw it. You had no chance, and yet you didn't give up… I think that was very brave of you."

Dean had to look away. He finally grabbed his own sleeping clothes and stood up, ignoring Castiel’s eyes trailing behind him.

It had been a weird day, and he was so tired he didn’t even mind having to sleep on the couch. And he wasn’t even arguing; Castiel had healed him, whereas the angel was still hurt. So when Castiel opened his mouth to talk, Dean quickly interrupted, evading the obvious question. “G’night, Cas,” he said.

“Good night, Dean,” he heard the angel say softly before he left the room.

Before falling asleep, already accommodated on the couch, Dean’s brain finally caught up to the situation. It had all turned upside down so quickly, he hadn’t even had time to process it.

Not only had he summoned an angel successfully, a thing he had not believed possible for the last few years, but he had also fought one. He had seen how their powers worked -the blasts, the healing, the teleportation-, and had even been in the presence of wings. He had seen an angel bleed and had killed another one.

And he had accepted it all as if it was nothing because the situation was way over him.

It hadn’t mattered to him he didn’t actually know Castiel- the moment the angel stepped up and then got hurt, he had put himself to work. He scolded him like they knew each other, and he had patched him up. And now Dean had an angel sleeping -he hoped- upstairs, and it felt as if nothing weird had ever happened.

It didn't matter, anyway. It didn't matter he had killed an angel, it didn't matter he had been healed by one and had taken care of him. It didn't matter because it felt so right he wasn't even going to question it. Also, he had other things in mind.

He fell asleep wondering why it all felt so natural.

Dean didn’t notice he had drifted off until he cracked his eyes open, disturbed by something next to him. From outside the window next, to the couch in which he had been sleeping, he could see the sky was still dark. He turned around slowly, feeling something behind him, his heart beating rapidly in alarm. It all drained away when he was met with shiny blue eyes in the darkness of the night.

“Cas? What the hell are you doing?" he said, voice raspy. Castiel blinked, and he blinked in return. "Were you watching me sleep? Dude, you gotta know that’s creepy.”

Castiel just stared at him with curiosity. He was wearing the clothes Dean gave him, and something fluttered in his chest when he saw that, ignoring the fact he could make out the shadow of the bandage under the shirt. Dean sighed, sitting up.

“Okay, okay. Why are you here? It’s a hellish hour to wake me up.”

"I… I can't sleep. You told me to do it, and I tried, but I keep waking up. I'm not sure how I'm supposed to do this if I'm being honest."

“Waking up how?” Dean blinked away his sleepy daze. He should have known something like this would happen.

“Bad images.”

“Nightmares?” Dean asked. Castiel thought about that for a second, and then he nodded.

Dean sighed again. Castiel seemed still confused, even when Dean stood up, dragging his blanket around him.

“Let’s get you back to bed, okay?” he began walking upstairs, Castiel trailing closely behind him.

Back in the bedroom, the mattress was a mess of blankets and pillows. Dean let another sigh, pointing towards the bed. “Get in”, he said, and the angel stared at him in confusion. “Come on, I want to go back to sleep, and the sooner you fall asleep, the better.”

Angels, as Castiel had put it, probably didn’t need sleep at all. As well as they didn’t need to eat, or going to the bathroom. So sleeping was probably a whole new experience for the angel, and even though he hadn’t told Dean about it, nightmares weren’t probably all that strange to happen – both he and Jimmy had been theorizing over the years, coming to the conclusion that Castiel was probably trapped or being judged. And only Heaven knew what that meant.

But now he remembered, in the middle of the daze from the moment, the shadow of crooked wings, somewhat broken. And Castiel was drained, if the way he fought and held himself was something to go by. The man had been all divine wrath at the moment, engulfed in power as he fought the other angel. But the way it left Castiel afterward was something that had worried Dean to his core.

Their theory only made sense the more he thought about it. Nightmares weren’t something that should surprise him. Who knew what Castiel had been through all those years, unable to respond or even come back to his vessel, no matter how much this one had prayed for it.

Dean was experienced in nightmares. He had had them. He had helped Sam go through them. He could handle this.

He paid no mind at Castiel's strange stare as he made him move to the other side of the bed so he could lay next to the angel. They were separate but close enough to feel the other's warmth, and he half smiled to himself as he asked, "better?"

The angel seemed quite shocked, but he nodded nonetheless, a tiny smile of his own. So Dean closed his eyes, accommodating himself.

“What were your nightmares about, anyway?”

“Dean…”

“You don’t have to answer. I was just curious,” Dean shrugged under the blanket.

It was silent for a few minutes, Castiel's breathing barely there. Dean was almost certain the angel had fallen asleep successfully when he heard his voice again. "Heaven. I dreamt about Heaven. They… punished me."

Dean opened his eyes, sympathy washing over him. He wouldn't ask any further. Instead, he reached out with his hand, placing it softly on Castiel’s shoulder, an attempt to give a comforting touch. “Now get back to sleep,” he whispered, warmly, he hoped, and closed his eyes, inciting Castiel to do the same.

 


	3. Chapter 3

When he woke up again to the smell of food, he was certain he had overslept. Dean was used to having a light sleep, waking up with every sound, probably a sequel of his restless nights when John came home drunk. And yet, he hadn’t noticed the clatter in the kitchen or the chatter of people downstairs. As well as he hadn’t noticed Castiel slip out of bed in the first place.

He walked downstairs, entering the kitchen, and found Bobby making breakfast with the angel beside him, conversating as if they knew each other, and Castiel handing him whatever he needed. It was so domestic, it made his late night thoughts go further away.

“Good morning, Dean,” Castiel half smiled, grabbing a plate and giving it to Bobby.

“You slept well?” Dean asked. Castiel nodded firmly. “What are you guys talking about, anyway?” He put his elbows on the table and stared at Bobby curiously. “You never cook.”

“I do when my pupil attempts an ancient summoning spell with no results ever written and succeeds.”

“I’m not your pupil,” he grumbled.

“You are now,” Bobby sat down across from him, examining him. “You look way better than you did yesterday, boy.”

“I healed his wounds,” Castiel chimed in as he sat next to Bobby, a strange hint of something in his voice. Dean glowered at him.

Bobby’s eyes lightened up with curiosity and he turned slightly, regarding Castiel. And only when the man began bombarding the angel with questions, did Dean realize he had been blind.

Of course, he had been worried. He hadn’t had time to process that yes, the man he was taking care of was, in fact, an angel. He had been worried about Castiel resting and getting better, that he didn’t even realize an angel had healed him. Dean had just been mad at Castiel for wasting energy.

He hadn't thought that after so many years of study and looking for the truth about angels, now he had a source for real answers and real information.

He didn’t know when it happened –his investigation, at first prompted by the need to find Castiel, ended up being some sort of lifestyle for him. And now that he had the angel back, that curiosity still remained. A curiosity that had been born when he was just a child with hopes and dreams and illusions, whose mother told him angels watched over him and he could only wait for it to be real.

Bobby had noticed before Dean had, apparently, and now the constant chatter from earlier made sense. The man had been curious about the angel and his answers and had found his chance to talk to Castiel.

Now that he had finally noticed, the little lightbulb turning on in his head, Dean was not going to waste a second, the tinge of curiosity burning inside him. He liked Castiel for real- he seemed nice and had saved both him and Sam. But he would be damned if he didn't ask as many questions as possible.

And apparently, the angel didn’t mind. When Dean asked his first question, Castiel smiled brightly, and a tension Dean had been unaware of suddenly disappeared. The angel was happy to oblige, answering right away. Dean couldn't help but notice he was relieved about something but failed to make about what exactly.

It didn’t matter. After that, it went on and on.

Yes, Dean had had questions for the angel for many, many years. But he didn’t ask any of them. Instead, he had more trivial things in mind, things he knew the angel would be the only one to actually know -or not, as Castiel had explained; some things not even angels knew. God’s existence was one of them. But the rest, he answered. Can humans see angel wings? Do everyone have a guardian angel or just a bunch of people? What is grace? Do souls really exist?

His questions were also interlaced with other things. Be it mundane things Castiel asked about, or chit-chat between Dean and Bobby. They didn't talk about the night before. They had had enough, and it was a victory in Dean's journal.

For now, he would go with normal questions, like how old was Castiel, or how did their wings look like. Something an average person would ask in the presence of an actual angel. Curiosity and knowledge was humanity’s best weapon.

He would keep to himself other, deeper, personal questions, like if angels heard prayers, and why they never answered. Why did they decide to intervene when it was too late?

Why did they fall?

Aside from the events of the night before, when Dean had been too worried about the wound to actually talk to the angel, giving him orders instead, he and Castiel had hit it right off.

The angel was quite shy around Dean, maybe even closed off, but he was happy to answer Dean’s questions, and sometimes, when he was feeling confident, he would blurt out questions of his own. And Dean would laugh at his sudden boldness, and his strange interrogation, like if humans didn’t get tired of urinating, but would answer anyway.

They had been driving back to Dean's home, and the man hadn't even realized it, too distracted chatting with the angel until he parked. And only then, in front of the house, the angel sitting in silence, regarding him curiously, did Dean ask himself what to do about Castiel.

He had driven them there, and he hadn’t even wondered where Castiel would stay. He was a fugitive; that much he knew by the angel’s conversation with Uriel, and his theory further confirmed by his words the night before. He had escaped Heaven itself. So he had nowhere to go, really.

And Dean knew he also needed to learn how to survive; he would need somewhere to rest, to eat, and basically, to live. Castiel was too proud to accept it. But he had slept, he had had nightmares, he had eaten in front of Dean. And if there was something he was sure of, it’s that angels didn’t need any of those.

He was falling, and that only meant that sooner or later, he would be human.

He tried not to focus too much on that. It was heartbreaking, even if he wasn’t the one going through it. And the angel was definitely avoiding the topic. Dean could only imagine how it felt, to be aware that one day, you would stop being what you had always been, what you had always known.

Instead, Dean pondered for a few minutes on what he would do about Castiel, asking himself how he had been so stupid to not think about this earlier. But there weren’t many options, in the end. So he sighed and turned slightly on his seat.

"You are staying with me," he said and pulled off the car without another word.

Castiel followed. He hadn’t really known Dean for long, but he knew from his tone that he would not change his mind.

“Make yourself at home,” the man said when Castiel entered the house. “There are two spare rooms. One is for guests and the other is for Sam. But he is in college, anyway, so pick whichever you want.”

Castiel remained silent. He stood there, watching, taking it all in.

It wasn’t much, really. And it was a big house for a bachelor. But there was something about it that captivated Castiel, and it may have been the sentimental value, something Dean wondered if he could sense. He’d have to ask about it later.

If he couldn’t sense it, it was easy to make it with the pictures of him and Sam, with the little details, with how much care Dean took of the building. And Castiel must have known why. But he wouldn’t ask about that. Not yet, at least.

After John Winchester passed away, Dean and Sam had sold the house their father had been living in- Sam went to college, and Dean took it in himself to go back to Lawrence, Kansas, and buy their old house, the one they had lived in back when their mother had been around. It had been available for a few years, and not only was it Dean and Sam's childhood, but it was also an amazing house and one Dean would dream of owning.

Someone else would have found it weird, maybe even a little creepy. But aside from the memories, the house felt like home to Dean, and no matter who owned it, who lived there, it would always call him back.

Dean, for once in his life, let himself have this. A home. And also somewhere Sam could come to whenever he felt the need. They had each other and they were family.

So Dean moved in and decorated it with his own style, which was actually quite nice, as well as he preserved the house as spotless as he could. The man was really happy with the building. And he hoped Castiel would feel, somehow, welcomed.

When he returned to the living room after changing his clothes with some Dean lent him, Castiel found the man sitting on the couch, remote in hand and zapping through the TV channels. Dean turned around when he heard the angel walk in and smiled brightly at the sight.

“These clothes are very comfortable,” Castiel commented.

“That’s great. I didn’t know your size but my clothes fit great back at Bobby’s. C’mere. I made dinner, and we can watch something.” He turned back towards the TV.

Castiel approached the couch and saw a small table with two bowls of pasta settled on it and a couple of beer bottles as well. He made a soft noise, and when Dean turned around to see if something was wrong, Castiel was staring at the food with a bit of sadness.

“Something wrong?”

“It’s… I don’t know.”

Dean understood. A reminder that he was falling, fast. A life away from what had been his home for millennia.

He found, surprised, that he didn’t want Castiel feeling sad.

Dean stopped changing channels with a gasp and turned towards Castiel with bright eyes. "Do you like Star Wars?"

“I don’t know what… a Star Wars is.”

Dean gaped at him in disbelief, and then patted the couch next to him with a smile as he put something on the TV. Castiel sat on the spot, sadness replaced with curiosity. Be it fake or not, Dean didn’t know.

“You _have_ to watch it. Really. You are not leaving this room without watching at least Episode IV.”

Dean had spent so much time studying angels that it hadn’t occurred to him they may not know a thing about humans. For what Castiel had told him, they knew about history, about biology, about essential stuff that yeah, would describe humanity.

But what about the rest?

It didn't take long for Castiel to get a huge interest in everything human. It began with a Star Wars marathon and ended up with an eternal talk about society, personality, and discussing the meaning of life at six in the morning.

And Dean didn’t mind at all. Instead, he took it upon himself to show Castiel his way around humanity, just as eager as Castiel was to answer Dean’s questions.

They were a rare pair.

It had been swiftly, but none of them thought it weird that Castiel was staying with Dean- Castiel didn't know much about social norms, and Dean didn't see anything wrong about it, either. The angel had nowhere to go, and after that first night, it just sort of happened.

Dean had spent years with a goal in mind, something he had wanted desperately to get out. All those questions that had been born so long ago. But when the time came, all he could bring himself to ask were small things. How fast can you fly?

Castiel answered after thinking for a second. Dean knew he didn't need to remember it since the angel was just fooling around.

“Awesome,” Dean chuckled every time.

He never asked Castiel why he protected Sam. Why he had answered his prayer when he shouldn’t have.

And after all that time with that purpose in mind, he had nothing now. No finish line, just a goal that faded away when he met the curious angel that now sort of lived with him. And they were going nowhere, just hanging out most of the days, showing Castiel around the place and teaching him all he wanted to know.

Castiel had confessed one night that he really liked Dean's cooking. Now that he was falling, the food didn't taste like molecules, and he rather liked the real taste of it. Dean tried to wave it off, saying he wasn't that good at cooking, but he still offered to teach Castiel some of the stuff he liked to cook.

The way Castiel’s eyes lit up, he would never forget.

He also couldn’t shake the warm feeling he got when he finally found a movie Castiel loved. Sure, every night they watched a different one -Dean had promised to teach him all he knew-, but although Castiel liked most of them, he didn’t have a favorite yet. So when they finally found the one, when Castiel was unable to stop watching and kept talking about the film afterward, Dean felt a rush of pride almost knocking him out.

Eventually, Castiel found the studio, where Dean kept all his books and notes and research tucked in. It was full of angel lore, of Dean’s personal thoughts, of years of investigation that led to something closer to the truth.

When he found the angel reading his notes, Dean at first thought he would pass out. But then Castiel looked out, eyes wide, and asked in a low voice, “you did this?”

Dean nodded and he smiled. “Great work,” he complimented.

After that, Dean felt more comfortable asking the angel real questions, and Castiel helped him revise his research and correct it. When Dean asked why, Castiel shrugged. “It shouldn’t be out in the public, if that’s what you are wondering. But it is your life work, and it helped you get to me. The least I can do is help you complete it.”

Dean just smiled and let him help him.

He would never admit that he liked staring at the angel more than he should. At first, he didn't notice -it just sort of happened. But it was hard to stop. It was all so compelling, the way his face lightened up in excitement when he found something he enjoyed, how his head tilted to the side in confusion, when he narrowed his eyes as if trying to examine everything and grasp the truth of every strange mundane object.

At first, he tried to force himself to stop staring. And then, he just went with it, taking it all in, knowingly.

It was peaceful and right, and it felt natural how they gravitated towards each other, growing closer.

Until one night, all that mindless fluttering around came crashing around them, and reality set in.

It had been a busy day, and Castiel and Dean had been hanging around with Dean’s best friend, Charlie. Dean explained to the redhead that Castiel was new around, although he didn’t explain how. And she didn’t question it. She grabbed Castiel’s hand and shushed Dean away, conversing with the new guy excitedly about all the things they had to do before he left town, as Dean had told her.

That small reminder was the first sign Dean had.

Yet he ignored it, and the three of them went around without a care in the world, and Castiel pretended his legs weren’t dragging and his eyes weren’t tired and his wings didn’t hurt. But they did. And he couldn’t keep it from Dean for long.

When night fell and they went back to their now shared house, Castiel hurried to the bathroom on the first floor and locked himself in, ignoring Dean's calls on the other side of the door. He walked out an hour later, looking pale, blue eyes dull, hunched over and slightly trembling. He leaned against the wall to keep himself up.

Dean didn’t have to ask what was wrong. He saw the blood-stained feathers on the floor. Castiel’s wings weren’t visible, but apparently, once the feathers fell they could be perceived by the human eye. Dean wished he couldn’t. He wished he could admire them any other way.

The angel said nothing and fell on the bed, face against the sheets as he suppressed a groan.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Dean asked.

“You knew I was falling. You told me yourself.”

“I didn’t know it was like this.”

Castiel fell asleep, mumbling something incoherent, as Dean’s fingers carded through his hair, thinking about how to help his friend.

That night, and after so long, Dean set another goal that he would not rest until he accomplished it.

He helped Castiel inside the bed, as he did almost every time the angel had nightmares –it turned into a silent agreement, helping Castiel go back to sleep. And then he went downstairs, entering his studio and putting all his books and notes and previous research on the desk. He didn’t close the door, in case Castiel woke up and needed help with something.

Dean would find a way to help Cas.

At first, when he found out the next morning, the angel tried to argue, to stop Dean from throwing himself into a sea of information and pointless research. Not even he knew how to stop an angel from falling. This was something, one of those things he couldn’t help Dean with. But the man refused to listen to him, and soon, Castiel was trying to help him despite himself. If Dean was not giving up, then he might as well help him through it. It was his problem, after all.

For weeks, as he looked for an answer, Dean asked himself over and over again the same thing. As he pondered whether they should recover Castiel’s grace somehow, or make the process painless, the question swam around his thoughts annoyingly.

But he couldn’t get rid of it, no matter what he did. Why had Castiel done that to himself? He had known what was at stake, and how gruesome falling was. Even when Dean hadn’t known, Castiel had been aware all along.

He didn’t ask, though. It went along with all the other questions he never made, yet was dying to ask.

From what the angel had told him, the ugly part was the process. It could be reversed if they could find the source where his grace was going when it left Castiel's vessel. But it was untraceable, maybe even impossible, and all that was left was for them to wait until Castiel was fully human.

The idea of Castiel becoming mortal was upsetting. The angel wasn't used to that kind of life and he certainly would miss his angelic nature, Dean thought. But at the same time, maybe he could feel better. Instead of a rogue angel, he would be another human walking the Earth, living his life like the rest of humankind. And it was an idea Castiel had liked.

Also, a selfish part of Dean wanted Castiel to be like him. To share like they had been doing all this time, in a way the angel could understand Dean and he could understand him.

“What is wrong with becoming human?” Dean asked one day.

“Nothing,” Castiel answered right away. He didn’t look Dean in the eye, though.

“But?”

Castiel sighed.

“Not all angels survive the fall.”

And sure, Dean wanted Castiel to be happy, and maybe as a human, he would feel more at home, rather than being a fugitive angel. But with those words, all selfish thought Dean had ever had, vanished. He would not risk Cas.

When he merged himself back in research, looking for a lead to the source, he ignored the little voice in his head that was wondering where had that idea of sharing humanity with Cas came from.

Eventually, Sam and his girlfriend, Jess, came over for a few days.

It was winter recess and Dean hadn’t seen his brother in so long, he let Castiel convince him to drop the subject at least for the holidays. He was feeling better, anyway, even though he was still falling.

“I may even make it,” Castiel said, a hopeful tone in his voice.

It was a depressing thought, somehow. And Dean wanted to believe him, but still, he wouldn't risk it.

Sam was thrilled to finally know Cas. Aside from Bobby, he was the only one who knew the truth Dean’s long research had been about. He knew his brother truly believed angels could be real, and when Dean told him about Castiel, and how he had finally found him, he had been eager to meet him at last.

There was a little spark in Castiel’s eyes as he talked to Sam that Dean knew had to do with how the angel had saved the man all those years ago.

The holiday was also the occasion in which Dean finally met Jess, and she was beautiful and smart and just the right match for his brother. He mocked them, sure, but he was still proud. He wouldn’t say it, though, and he flirted with Jess, even, just to make fun of his little brother.

On the last night, Castiel had gone to bed early, feeling a little sick, and Jess had told the brothers she would do the same. Their flight back to California was early the next morning and she wouldn’t be able to wake up otherwise. Sam kissed her, Dean gave her a brief hug, and both men were left alone with a couple of beer bottles and a random TV show as they talked.

Sam asked about how had things been going with Cas, and Dean couldn't help but smile. Despite everything the angel was going through, they still shared a lot of things when Dean wasn't working and spent a great time together. During their runs, they had met new people, and Castiel had met a few of Dean's old friends.

But in the end, the reality of the situation caught up with his story, and Dean told Sam that Castiel was falling.

Dean took the opportunity to tell his brother about what he had been working on the last few months. Sam stared at him with a worried expression all along, yet he remained silent as Dean kept on talking about retrieving Castiel’s grace. In the end, silence fell over them, and Sam’s worried expression didn’t fade away.

“What’s with the face?” Dean asked after a few minutes of stretched silence.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” the younger brother blurted out.

“Why wouldn’t I, Sammy?” Dean frowned. “Cas needs the help, and I’m not leaving him alone with this.”

“I know, but… he already said he might be able to survive this. And I think that going back to being a full angel won’t help. What would happen then? He goes back to Heaven?”

Dean just stared at him and opened his mouth, ready to argue, when Sam raised a hand.

“Just… think about it, okay? Really think about it. Cas might have to go away, and I’m not sure…”

“You are not sure about what?”

“I don’t think you can let him go like that.”

Sam watched as his brother gaped at him and tried to say something, anything. But nothing came out, and he was left with closing his mouth, pressing his lips in a thin line.

He wished Dean good night and left him alone, sitting on the couch, thinking about how had his life become a mess, and what did Sam’s words mean to him.

The next day, they pretended the conversation hadn’t happened as Dean drove Sam and Jess to the airport.

Castiel said goodbye first, all smiles and shy hugs. It was evident he liked the couple but still didn't feel that close to saying goodbye to them in a heartfelt manner. Still, they laughed, and both Sam and Jess surprised the angel with strong hugs.

Dean hugged Jess and lifted her off the ground, spinning them around and making her giggle. Then he let her go, making her promise to take care of Sam and proceeded to say farewell to his little brother as well, a small pat at first and a big bear embrace after.

“Think about it,” Sam said before grabbing Jess’ hand and turning around with a small smile.

Dean walked back towards Castiel and the angel smiled up at him.

Sam’s words resonated even louder at that, but Dean ignored it, instead choosing to smile back and walk back to the Impala, Cas next to him.

It took him a few days, but in the end, he decided he couldn’t postpone it any longer.

He had to know.

A week after Sam and Jess’ trip, Dean and Castiel were sitting in the studio, two empty cups of coffee on top of the desk as they both did some research late at night. And Dean found himself staring at Cas.

The angel was wearing comfortable clothes, a book lying open on his lap, sitting with his legs crossed on the chair -in several occasions he had told Dean about how he once found out how comfortable that position was, and Dean had just snorted, because of course, Cas would find _that_ way to be comfortable. His hair was ruffled due to how often Castiel carded it with his fingers, and the warm glow of the lamp gave him an aura that Dean could not quite describe.

And there, notes long forgotten as he stared at the angel, _his_ angel, Dean found himself finally asking what had bothered him for so long.

“Why do angels fall?”

Castiel looked up from his reading, blue eyes settling curiously on the man.

He could almost see Castiel’s obvious and simple answer. It’s a punishment. Yes, he knew that. But it was not what he was asking. And Castiel seemed to notice, swallowing loudly when he understood the meaning behind Dean’s words.

Why did you protect Sam, even though you knew this would happen. Why did you break your vow? Why did you listen to my prayers when no one else did. Why did you fight for me?

Why are you here, with me, and not in Heaven?

The angel didn't answer, though. Castiel was definitely at a loss for words. And Dean didn't blame him. It was a very intimate question, one he had kept for himself for a really long time, and with good reason.

But Cas didn’t seem mad, or confused, or sad. Instead, his shocked expression shifted, turning soft, his gaze warm, the ghost of a smile.

“Someday I’ll tell you,” was all he said.

After that, he wished Dean good night and left the studio.

Dean let it go, but the way Cas’ eyes flicked with hurt for just a fraction of a second before dismissing the question would haunt Dean’s dreams for sure.

There was an evening in which, going through his books, Castiel found one with a leather cover and worn out pages. He was reading it fondly, and when Dean noticed the book, he smiled sadly.

“Is he okay?” Dean asked.

It was one of the questions he kept for himself. Ever since the confrontation with Uriel he had meant to ask. Castiel was in his vessel, and he knew Jimmy had passed away. But he had been trying to avoid the topic, and now he felt he owed it to Novak.

He had been avoiding too many things lately.

Castiel, thankfully, nodded. “Uriel found him. He was sent after the two witnesses of my crime. When he passed away… he was left with a choice. All vessels have it. He… he gave up his body so I could have it.” The angel closed the book and traced his fingers over the leather. “He has a special place in Paradise, to honor his sacrifice and lay his soul to rest. All hosts do.”

It only felt right. Dean stood up, silently, and grabbed Castiel’s shoulder, squeezing gently.

That night he prayed to James Novak and thanked him for everything, and promised he would keep Castiel safe.

 


	4. Chapter 4

It wasn’t long before they found the way.

Well, more like, Dean found it. And that only made it worse.

It happened during his lunch break at the workshop –being an angelology consultant didn’t make it for dinner, mind you-, and he was skimming through that day’s newspaper when he spotted it. He blinked once, twice, and then stood up, his hands grasping the paper so tightly his knuckles went white.

“You okay, brother?” one of his coworkers asked. Dean was too deep in his trance to hear him, so the man repeated his question.

Dean looked up, then back to the inked words, then up to Benny’s eyes.

“I need you to cover for me. I have something to do.”

As soon as Benny told him there was no problem, Dean thanked him quickly and left the workshop with a hurried wave of his hands. He didn't hear Benny's chuckle or one of the other employees' questions.

It took him half the usual time to drive home.

He stormed in his studio, ruffling through notes and other newspapers scattered around his desk. He opened a book, which was hidden beneath a notepad, and hurried through the pages until he found what he was looking for. A short paragraph on the manifestation of angelic grace. Dean looked back to the newspaper, back to the book, and he knew he was right.

Dean had found Castiel’s grace.

He sat back on his chair, rubbing his temple, a smile plastered on his face. This was it. Castiel could go back to normal, to being himself, out of the suffering he had gotten himself into. No more bloody feathers or midnight nightmares or sickness or pain. He would get his wings back, he would get his full grace back, and he would go back to Heaven. And Dean…

He couldn’t do it.

The rest of the afternoon he pondered for a way to tell Castiel. But everything he came up with felt wrong. All of this felt wrong.

Castiel had been out, hanging out with Charlie, who had told him about a movie they both had been excited about. When he came home, he found Dean still sitting in the studio, eyes closed and feet up against the desk. The moment he walked in, Dean opened his eyes.

“What are you doing?” he asked, tilting his head in that way only Castiel could muster. “You got home earlier.”

“Took the day off,” Dean answered, finally landing back in reality. “Want something to eat?” he asked immediately after.

“Sure,” Castiel smiled. Dean returned the smile, telling himself he would tell him about his grace. Just- not then. Dean needed time to say goodbye.

But why was it so hard? A day turned into a week and a week into a month. Dean had to say it at once, swallow down this selfish feeling, no matter how much he wanted Castiel to stay.

Castiel, at the same time, seemed to be feeling better. He talked more, laughed brightly, and was even having an appetite, unlike the last few weeks where he barely ate. He wouldn’t lock himself in the bathroom anymore, bloody feathers around like he had the first few weeks, and he carried himself more like he had when he was an angel, instead of hunched over, probably in pain.

His nightmares had been happening less and less frequently, as well. The angel wouldn’t tell him, but Dean knew they were not related to Castiel falling. It was not the pain of the fall. He had seen them, the effect they had on Cas, how he turned desperately in his bed. Dean was always there to help him out of the illusion, but when he asked, Castiel refused to tell him what it was all about. All he knew was from the first night. “Punishment”, he had said.

He knew, though. Dean knew Castiel had been tortured because of him.

Dean tried to convince himself he was keeping the information to himself because maybe, just maybe, Castiel didn’t need it anymore. He was feeling better, and he could stay with him, away from Heaven and what he had gone through, finally rid of the fall. He may be able to survive it, become fully human. And Dean tried to believe it, even when he knew what a lie that was.

It truly didn’t make sense to him that need he had to keep Cas with him, but he was certain it was related to what Sam had meant with his words. As well as it didn’t make sense why he couldn’t stop staring at his angel, taking in every smile and every little gesture, and how something in his eyes shifted every time they stared silently at each other, none of them wanting to look away and having nothing else to say.

He told himself it was because he would miss him. But never really thought why.

Eventually, everything snapped, all the pieces and stares and thoughts suddenly fitting perfectly together, the storm of confusion finally appeasing.

It happened when Dean less expected it. And when it did, he almost laughed –laughed at how simple things were all along, how everything made sense in a way he had been blind to, how this had been going for months and he had been stupid enough to ignore it.

Sam was right. Now he understood. And he had known why, too, because of course, his little brother would know Dean more than himself. He thanked, internally, that he didn't tell Dean. He had to figure out for himself; that much he knew.

The moment was casual, a normal thing, something he and Castiel did all the time. But this time, his brain finally snapped out of his daze and realized how they had been slow dancing with each other for months.

They were in the kitchen, preparing everything for a day out. It was Saturday, the only day in which Dean had his morning free.

Usually, they would have breakfast together before he went to work, and Dean came back around noon. Castiel waited for him to get home before they cooked together and ate in the living room. It was all so tranquil and perfect Dean had never thought much about it, just enjoyed it. And he loved every moment of it. From the morning to the afternoon, and hanging out at Charlie’s, or walking around town, grabbing a coffee, watching a movie.

On Saturday, ever since spring had begun to warm the town, instead of having breakfast at home –except when it was cloudy and rainy, in which case they would prepare something and watch a movie sitting on the couch like the winter before-, they prepared some food and headed out somewhere nice.

Sometimes during the week, they hung outside, of course, but never during the morning. Which Castiel had made clear was one of his favorite moments of the day. Not because he was alone, he would always rather be with Dean. But due to how the sun illuminates everything, an eerie touch that made nature glow differently, and how it brought up every color of everything that Castiel couldn't help but stare.

When he was alone during the week, he went there on his own, to sit and watch and breathe and just memorize everything. But it wasn’t as fun, or as nice, as it was with Dean. So Dean humored him, and made a picnic basket every Saturday, and chatted with Cas about everything, instead of asking why would Castiel need to memorize the glow of nature when the sun was bright and the colors shone beautifully. He didn’t want to ask.

This time it was different, though. Dean couldn’t quite say why, but it was.

They were still in the kitchen, their elbows bumping from time to time, as Dean made a few sandwiches and Cas prepared some juice. Dean made a joke, and Castiel laughed openly at it as he slammed shut a bottle. The angel regarded him, saying something in response, something silly, laughter still tinting his voice with a smile. Dean looked up, listening to the low rumble of Cas’ voice.

He was smiling, staring directly into Dean’s eyes as he spoke. The morning light shone through the window just right, illuminating half of Cas' face, his blue eyes almost transparent. And they sparkled, a small shine lighting them up even more than the sun itself did at that moment.

Dean was speechless for a moment, his mind reeling because he had been staring at Castiel for months, but he had never realized how gorgeous he was.

It was beyond a vessel, beyond his physical appearance. It went to his soul, to his grace, and how it was easy to appreciate from the outside. How his personality shone through all his features and how his soul could be seen in the glimmer of his eyes. It was so utterly _Castiel_ , the beauty Dean now could see, that he was left breathless.

The angel’s voice brought him back to reality, asking if he was okay, and Dean could only smile and nod, because he had never been better.

After that, he saw Castiel in a new light.

The whole day outside, he took it upon himself to watch Castiel. Every line of his face, every little smile, every twinkle of his eyes.

Dean had been watching him a lot lately, sure. And now, he also knew why. And he knew that he had been memorizing all these things as well, even when he didn’t know what it was about, what he was looking for. He had been memorizing the man he had fallen in love with.

The fact that he had done it a lot, wouldn't stop him from doing it now. If anything, he would just stare even more, taking it all in consciously.

So the entire day, he watched Cas. He watched him laugh and run and talk, and lay on the grass, and rant about nature and animals and bees. And Dean took in every single word he said.

By the end of the day, as they watched the sunset sitting on the Impala's hood, Dean turned around.

The sunset was beautiful, but not as much as his angel.

At some point, as Dean traced with his eyes the curve of his jaw or the deep of his nose, and how his eyes glimmered with the dark light of the afternoon, Castiel turned.

He pinned Dean down with just a stare. The blue was smooth and soft in the light of the sun, like the sea during a clear day.  But there was something behind them, like a building storm, and somehow Dean knew he had been the one to start it.

He didn't think. He didn't even breathe. Before he knew it, he was leaning in.

A barely there kiss, a soft touch of their lips. But it was everything. They made it last, and it went until the sun disappeared completely. It was so calm they didn’t even need to pull apart to breathe. And yet it was charged with emotion, feelings Dean could only imagine had been locked in for months and were all rushing out through this. Deep, breathtaking, it disarmed Dean in a second.

It was infinite. It was right. It was all he had been wanting for months. So he held on.

When they pulled apart, Castiel had his eyes still closed.

“Let’s go home,” Dean said. Castiel hummed in agreement.

It was dark outside by the time they arrived at the house. They took the picnic basket and walked back inside, fluttering around each other as they put everything back in place. As per usual, they began preparing everything for a movie night. It was out of habit, really, because none of them were really thinking about what they were doing.

During the car ride, Dean could almost feel Castiel buzzing. And he could only imagine he was just as excited, or nervous. So it really was no surprise that when the microwave beeped, the popcorn ready for them to grab, Castiel grabbed Dean by the collar instead, pinning him down against the fridge.

Cas kissed him roughly this time. It was completely unlike the one they shared in the sunset. This was desperate, heated, something dark that had been rising for a long time now. Human, passionate, sinful.

“Eager much?” Dean chuckled, eyes dark and voice breathy.

“You’re an idiot.”

Dean smiled in the kiss and sucked at Castiel’s swollen lips. Grabbing him by the waist, he turned themselves around, pinning Castiel down this time, a low thud.

Castiel flinched and made a noise.

But it wasn’t a moan, or a whine, or a sigh. It wasn’t a sound made of lust. It wasn’t a growl, or a shudder, or a gasp. It wasn’t like the other beautiful sounds Castiel had made and it made Dean’s blood run cold and freeze in place.

The pained sound made them break the kiss, and now Dean was staring down at Cas with a terrified gaze. He was certain he hadn’t been too rough. He had put his best to turn them around swiftly, to pin him down delicately, and even if it had made a noise, it couldn’t be something painful.

And the former angel had the same expression, as if he had been caught in the headlights, pleading Dean not to ask.

“What happened?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Cas…”

“Dean.”

His eyes were pleading, yes, but Dean made him turn around nonetheless. And when he lifted Cas' shirt, he made a sound awfully similar to that same pained whine, tears gathering in his eyes and a lump hurting in his throat. Of course, things couldn't last.

Two long red-hot gashes crossed Castiel's back, tainting his smooth pale skin with awful scars. They weren't bleeding, but they might as well have been since they were painfully recent as far as Dean could tell. His hand hovered over them, yet he didn't dare touch. Instead, he made Castiel turn around, slowly, to examine the rest.

Those were the worst wounds. But it didn't make it less horrifying. And it didn't lessen the shock he felt when he found scratches and scars all over his chest, sides, and abdomen. Dean kissed them lightly, carefully, and he watched Castiel's face closely, making sure he didn't make him wince.

He was done hurting Cas.

This was his fault, really. It had been a month since he had found out about his grace, and he had kept it from Castiel. Because he was selfish, and he didn’t know how to say goodbye, and he had needed time to find this, to find them, and he wanted that. He wanted this. So he had kept it, convincing himself that Cas was okay anyway, that he was getting better.

He had been clearly wrong.

Dean stood up, putting Castiel’s shirt back in place, carefully, and took him to the bathroom in silence. Castiel didn’t say anything as Dean took a first aid kit and started tending to his wounds, one by one, trying to ignore ever wince Castiel made until he was done.

They didn't talk about it. Dean couldn't talk about it. Instead, they went back to the kitchen, grabbed the long-forgotten popcorn, and like every Saturday, they accommodated themselves back on the couch to pick a movie.

The movie was forgotten, too, of course. Because they were selfish and wanted this. So, carefully this time, tenderly, memorizing each other with soft touches, they let themselves go.

On Saturday, Dean decided, was when he was going to do it.

 

Dean had nightmares, too.

He hid them well. He had had them his entire life, sometimes more often than others, sometimes not at all, sometimes many in a row. But he knew how to handle them.

Unlike Cas, he didn't make a sound. He just woke up abruptly, slapped himself back to reality, and tried to calm himself back into sleep.

Lately, he had been having those more and more. At first, they weren't nightmares. They were more like eerie dreams, strange dreams. A flutter of wings, an angel's grace, but he always found out with surprise it was not Castiel.

In the end, it was always the same.

_"Over the hill, you will fly."_

He had no idea what it meant.

Over the last month, and ever since he had found Cas' grace, it had turned more into a nightmare and less into a weird dream. They were bloody, with broken feathers, and Castiel was crying as the wings fluttered and the grace shone. The same words, but with a strangled sob.

_"Over the hill, you will fly."_

That Saturday, he woke up from the nightmare covered in sweat. Dean must have made some sounds while sleeping, because Castiel was leaning over him, worried and pale, like he had been the last few days.  And no wonder. Because the bloody feathers had turned into rivers of red. And the words, with a cry of pain, had changed.

_"Today."_

Castiel asked, over and over again, if Dean was okay. And he lied, of course, because that strangled sob and the last words sounded a lot like Castiel’s voice.

He knew it was today. He had planned it himself. He just didn't know why he would fly.

When Dean went back to sleep, lured by Castiel’s fingers carding through his hair, like Dean had done many nights when their positions were reversed, he noticed something strange. Something warm, flooding through him, making him go back to sleep, appeasing his tumultuous thoughts.

They slept in. It was Saturday, and it was only ten in the morning, but Dean hated it. So he woke up abruptly, cursing as he got down of the bed and turned to look at Castiel, who was still sitting on the mattress, hands on his lap and messy hair too dark against his pale skin. Dean hated it too. Castiel was never this pale.

“Did you use your mojo on me?” he sounded angry. Why was he angry? He shouldn’t be angry, not today. But he was worried, and sad, and definitely not ready for that Saturday.

“You were crying.”

Dean remained silent for a second and sighed.

It was obvious that using his grace took a toll on Castiel. In the last few days, he had been withering more and more. But that morning it was awfully obvious how much the fall was affecting him.

But Cas had just wanted to help. So Dean smiled, even if weakly. He smiled as best as he could, opened the curtains, and helped Cas out of the bed.

“I picked somewhere nice for today.”

Castiel hummed pleased as they got dressed.

When they arrived there with their picnic basket on hand, Castiel made a noise as he stared at the place in amazement.

“What is it?” Dean asked.

“It’s beautiful.”

Dean grinned and voiced his agreement. It really was. A field covered in dandelions, a glade surrounded by trees, the grassland being lulled by the breeze in every different direction. The sun was still high in the sky, but it was obvious that when it set, it would disappear behind the hill in the middle of the glade.

Castiel stopped, staring at his surroundings curiously. “And… familiar.”

His words didn’t confuse Dean at all, but the human didn’t try to explain. Castiel would know, eventually.

They settled close to the trees, where their shadow couldn’t cover them from the sun but its presence was comforting either way. They laid everything on the ground, and like every other day, they ate and talked and laughed. Except it was not like every other day, not since the last time, and their fingers were tangled, unwilling to get apart.

Dean was both happy and heavy with dread.

But they enjoyed it. And they ignored Castiel’s pale skin as he talked about bees, and they ignored his wounds as Dean hugged him softly, and they ignored everything, every single thing that could go wrong, for the sake of spending that time together.

But all things came to an end, and when the sun began to set, Dean was reminded of that.

He stood up and offered his hand to Castiel.

“You know why this field is familiar?”

“No. Why?” Castiel took his hand and let Dean guide him away from their place, and towards the hill.

“Because you made it.”

The manifestation of grace was through life, and both Castiel and Dean knew that. Wherever it landed, wherever it was, it created something beautiful and unique, something irreplaceable. It was made of power, of light, and it was only right that it created life.

So when Castiel’s grace had landed on that empty field, his unique grace, full of love and beauty, it was only fit that it would bring to life such a breathtaking scenery.

As Dean explained this, realization dawning on Castiel's eyes, he helped him up the hill, a steady hand gripping him firmly by the shoulder so he wouldn't fall. And he explained it with pride, with something irradiating from him, and he said it in awe, but not surprising at all, that Castiel could create such a thing.

The closer the angel got to the top, the more visible it became. A little ball of light, a spot of grace, on top of the hill, waiting for him. Castiel felt it. Dean could feel it too. But Castiel felt it calling, luring him, asking him to retrieve it so they could be one again and return to Heaven.

Castiel was dying, and Dean explained this too. He wasn’t sure he could survive the fall. So when Cas tried to protest, that he shouldn’t _be_ here, that Dean shouldn’t have done this, Dean insisted it was necessary.

He would rather die of pain himself than watch someone like Cas run out of life.

Dean took him to the top of the hill. Castiel just had to touch his grace, and it would be over. But he couldn’t.

So he refused.

The divine was something impossible to comprehend. No matter how much you studied, how much you knew, it would still take you by surprise. And this surprise killed both of them.

When Castiel refused his own grace, in his anger with Dean for making such a decision without him, the light flickered, catching both of their attention. And then it disappeared.

Castiel crumbled to the floor. And Dean fell with him, too, grabbing his hand and pleading.

He cried, and he prayed, and Castiel told him it was okay, but it fucking wasn’t. This wasn’t okay. This was all kinds of wrong. But it wasn’t Cas’ fault, and Dean made sure he knew that. He hugged him to his chest, telling him nice things, wondering why as he shushed sweet words to his hair.

And as he wondered why all of this happened, and why no one listened to his prayers, and why he had been such a coward as not to tell Castiel how he felt any sooner, a voice spoke to his mind.

_Dean Winchester._

Dean opened his eyes, staring around.

_We do listen._

_Who are you?_

_I have many names. But you may call me Michael._

Dean knew who it was, of course. Michael, leader of Heaven. Second in command. Castiel’s brother.

_Save him._

_We can’t. But you could._

Castiel wasn’t trembling anymore, instead staring at Dean curiously.

“Dean?”

_How?_

_He can’t be an angel anymore. But you can. I can make you one. And you can save Castiel. He is human, now. His grace is gone, and he has a soul. All he needs is healing to go through the fall._

_What do I have to do?_

_Say yes._

“Dean? What’s going on?”

Dean stared down at Castiel. Pale, bloodshot eyes, breath hitched. And it wasn't that hard of a choice, really. Castiel must have seen something in his eyes, because he was suddenly grabbing his arms, desperate.

“No!”

_Will Cas be okay? Will I be okay?_

“Dean, listen to me-“

When an angel became human, they fell. They gained emotions, hunger, sickness, pleasure. They lost their grace to gain a soul, and if they survived, they had the opportunity to live a human life. But what happened when a human became an angel? What then? Did something happen at all?

His mother had believed angels were their guardians, and sometimes Dean wished that was true. And if they weren’t, then Dean would become a guardian angel himself.

_He will be okay._

“Cas, I’m sorry,” he said, even granting a sad smile.

_Say yes and it will be done._

“Don’t, Dean, please-“

_“Yes.”_

 

 

Castiel saw it all as Dean’s eyes went dark and then back to their usual green. A green that was once beautiful but that now made him sick. The warmth flowing through him, healing him, making him whole again, was unwelcomed. He would never be whole again. Even if he hoped he was wrong.

Dean put him to the ground, his arms leaving Castiel’s body, and he stood up, tall and mighty, as he stared down at Castiel, examining him.

“You’re healed now.”

“Wish I wasn’t.”

The man’s –no, _angel’s_ \- eyes were a dull green, a pale joke of what they had once been. He had a blank stare, an expressionless face, as he stared at Castiel. All of Dean’s warmth was gone.

“Who are you?” he felt the need to ask.

“I am Dean.”

And Castiel couldn’t contain his own tears, because this might be Dean, but it wasn’t _his_ Dean.

He had seen himself decay just so he wouldn’t have to say goodbye to Dean. He had wanted more time with him, and he tried to extend his own life, even if he knew it was killing him. He tried to extend it because maybe, just maybe, he would be able to say farewell someday.

And he found out it wasn’t about time; he would just never be ready to say goodbye.

But fate had it he had to say it anyway. Too soon, in a horrid way. Dean was taken away from him unfairly, and now a broken shell of what he used to be was standing in front of him, making fun of his misery.

“I have a question.”

Castiel looked up.

“Why do angels fall?”

He remembered. And he hoped that, whatever had made the angel ask such a question, was still there. He hoped as he gathered his own memories, his own thoughts, tears drying on his cheeks were they burned with dread.

He hadn’t fallen in love with Dean at first. He had acted out of impulse, tired of injustice, tired of watching his own charge suffer. They were supposed to be their shepherds, their guardians, and yet he was expected to stand by and watch.

He had acted out of righteousness and ended up in punishment. But he didn't regret it. And he didn't back off.

But he knew, deep down, that even if it wasn’t his intention, it all lead to the same thing.

Castiel was meant to fall, to feel all those human things. To feel emotions, love, sadness, to feel pain, to feel pleasure. He was meant to fall in the most humane way possible. And he didn't regret a thing.

He remembered, eating some pasta with good company by his side. Dean staring at the screen with a childlike expression. Sharing the movie that Dean would not let him miss and feeling so warm, so at peace in the middle of the turmoil that his life had become.

He was sure, now, that it hadn't been just a feeling, just something passing by. At that moment, Castiel had known he was in the right place, after all.

So whatever made him fall in the first place, whatever reason, whatever fate, it was no wonder what was behind it all.

“Love,” he said. He chocked in his own words. “They fall because they love.”

In the end, it was all about that. To feel. To love.

He didn’t know when he had started crying again, but it only made sense how hard it was to breathe under Dean’s intense stare, void of emotions, and void of warmth. Dean smiled. But it was cold and awful, and it made Castiel want to cry even harder.

“Foolish.”

With a gush of wind, Dean disappeared.

And Castiel was left on top of a hill, in the middle of the field, wondering how it had all turned into this.

 

 


End file.
